


Solicitations Gone Right

by Em_Jacques



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, F/M, POV First Person, Smut, Xenobiology, light bloodplay, redrom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jacques/pseuds/Em_Jacques
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After unsuccessful attempts to entice a partner into a quadrant, Cronus finds himself feeling pitiful.  An unsuspected solicitor approaches in the perfect form of Porrim Maryam; she comes bearing sweet words and red feelings, and knows he is capable of so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solicitations Gone Right

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an adorable comic strip posted by one of my Ifunny subscriptions, the lovely liz_the_hoestuck, and I decided to roll with it. It was pretty fun to write even though the characters are undoubtedly not portrayed accurately and it's quite short.  
> But it's rare pairing porn and I hope you enjoy it at least enough to finish.  
> 

What were you thinking? Throwing moves at every troll you thought might show you some attention, and turned down at every smooth line. It wasn’t really fair for a slick man like you, what with your perfect hair and devlish charm. Startin to make a man feel pretty worthless and sad, if you had to be honest. 

Your name is Cronus and you sit dejectedly on a small rock outcropping on the shores a small distance from your hive. You sigh and run your comb through your already neatly slicked back hair almost nervously, an anxious attempt to soothe your wounded pride and equally wounded hemopumper. Kanny had turned down your pale solicitation yet again. You knew he was already happily in a moirailleigance with Porrim, that dolled up broad in the green and black dress; what a fox, you think; but you made it very clear you were also open to a red fling. You didn’t understand what was so triggering to him when you gave him such an easy way out if he was uncomfortable swinging pale. Hell, that cookie was so cute you were even willing to work around his vows, and were quick to describe to him the human contraptions you two could use when pailing to keep them in tact! Which…may have been where you went wrong, you speculate, because that was when the whistle started screaming and you decided to abscond.

It had been quite a long time since you’d filled a bucket. Why were you so fucking pathetic? 

You hang your head in your hands and totally rough up your neat hair. You debate trying to smoke the human cigarette tucked behind your earfin, but you have seen movies where humans suffer the health consequences of their habit; perhaps breathing the smoke into your sensitive airsacs might permanently harm your gills. Staring at the stick held in your long fingers, you decide that the sadness and melancholic self-loathing bubbling inside you are enough to make you try. The lighter drops from your sylladex at the phrase “Go, human lighter!” and you take a deep drag. The smoke is acrid and tinged with the salt smell of the ocean you are near, and you were right.

Coughing the smoke back up through your burning gills felt about as good as breathing it into your seizing airsacs. You double over in a vicious fit, trying desperately to cough the affects out of your body. After a few minutes of unattractive hacking and splashing some seawater on your gills, you flop back down on your rock to continue wallowing in your empty quadrants with your eyes closed. 

 

A soft, warm weight rests across your left thigh without warning. You didn’t bother to see who had begun to bother you, it was probably Tula come to mock you some more with her black teasing. There was a series of light taps on your side between your grub fins.

“Hello Cronus.”

You were quite wrong. Your eyes open and a radiant, ring pierced face framed with luscious black hair hovers quite close to you. She is leaning over slightly and your eyes dart to her plunging neckline without warning, automatically. 

“Porrim!” you yell, surprised and more than a little embarrassed. You sit up quickly but don’t dislodge her perch. She threads one tattooed arm around your waist gently, and your hemopumper is beating like crazy. You try to recover yourself with some dignity. “What are you doing here? You can’t just run around scaring cats like that!”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder to press her body closer to yours, and reaches up with the arm not holding you to smooth your disheveled locks back from your forehead. She’s careful to not jostle you earfins. This momma is too much.

“Kankri shared the nature of your solicitations earlier this afternoon with me, Cronus.”  
Oh no. She is gonna clean your clock for hitting on her pale-boy and is disarming you with the overwhelming sex appeal she knows you can’t ignore. You…are okay with this. Death by foxy jade-blood is on the list of ways you’d like to go. You gotta stay cool. You smirk.

“Yeah, what’d the little cookie have to say about it? He reflect on my irresistible stature and decide to take me up on my offer?” You flex slightly and instantly decide that was a dumb thing to do. Oh well. 

She continues with no acknowledgement of your sass. “Although he did not appreciate the pale nature of your advances, the nature of your red propositions did not fall on completely deaf ears. He reminded me, in a sense, that you also lack a partner in concupiscent romances.”  
Well of course you lack concupiscent romances as well as pale, that’s basically the whole…oh. Oh you are so thick. She is running a long black fingernail lightly up and down your chest over your tight t-shirt while you stutter, and you understand what she meant by ‘also lack.’ Porrim and Damara ended the bizarre, pailing-centered redrom fling they had sweeps ago. You stare up at the smokin’ ten and she is softly smiling at you with that plump, pouty mouth, but not in jest. In anticipation of your response. You must look like a total tool.

“Are you asking what I think you’re asking, doll?” You try to sound cocky and seductive, but aren’t really sure if the attempt masks the disbelief in your voice. Part of you in already picturing her with her dress around her waist and your bulge sliding across her gold tongue ring but another quite large part of you is petrified; you remember hearing her and Damara from their hives, the screaming and other unknown sounds of their activities keeping you up with your bulge in your hands for days. She kisses you on the jaw, at the base of your earfin, and you blush.  
“Too many sweeps have passed for my own liking as well, Cronus. You may lack tact but I believe your boisterous claims do not stem completely from fantasy.” Her voice is low and smooth, steady, and every time she says your name you feel a little hotter beneath her.  
You may act like you’re the baddest troll at lookout point, but this troll radiated sex. If you failed to please her you would have no choice but to strangle yourself with your own belt, if you even lived that long after the shame. A streak of doubt shot through you. A casual quadrant is something that never appealed to you, which you suspected is why so few even humoured you as a serious option since your friendship apparently came with an expiration date. Porrim was always kind to you; it was in her nature. You knew what she was doing and you felt your pumper squeeze tight while you tried to hold yourself together. 

“Listen sweetheart, I think I know what kind of pity you’re showing me right now, but I don’t need it. It won’t be the same if it’s just pacification.”  
You don’t realise that you are gripping her hip and arm quite tightly when you start to speak. You didn’t even realise you had returned the sentiment of holding her on your lap, but the smell of her perfume was becoming hard to ignore. She scoffs at you, and it ends in a soft chuckle. The apprehensions you felt quickly dissipate with her sweet response.

“Pity has nothing to do with my approaching you. I like you, Cronus. I enjoy your company, find your passion for human culture fascinating, and believe I would greatly enjoy to…discuss the nuances of red involvement with you.” She winks and gently caresses the muscles of your upper arm, and you stop breathing.  
You’re going to pail the sexiest troll on Beforus and you’re going to do it right there on the shores outside your hive. 

She is suddenly vibrant and very attainable perched on your lap, and you want to touch every inch of her. Her dress is heavy and clings to the ample curve of her hips; it is so welcoming to slide your hand up the revealing slit exposing her thigh. You palm her hip eagerly and discover she has neglected to wear panties on her visit, causing you to moan in appreciation. Porrim wraps her arms around your shoulders and leans her head back, her bosom enticing beneath the revealing straps of her dress and her smoky grey throat bared for you. It’s a primal, submissive action, and it makes your pan cloudy with desire.

“Won’t you kiss me, Cronus?” She barely utters the words before your lips are on her flesh, tasting her hungrily with open mouthed kisses before daring to nip at more sensitive spots with your needlelike teeth. Soft laps of your tongue follow every prick. You stop at the junction of her collarbones, nuzzling your nose in the small hollow there and breathing the scent of her, warm and full of the sun you’ve only ever seen glistening above you through a hundred feet of ocean. It’s almost visible when you kiss her, blinding, deadly, and so very tempting.  
She releases little moans and sighs of approval at your ministrations, stroking your hair back and fingering your shoulders lovingly. She shivers slightly when you release a breath against the exposed cleft of her breasts.

“I naively did not anticipate you to be chilly in comparison to myself, darling.” You look at her, eyes wide in surprise, and she giggles. It’s light and childish compared to her usual vibrations, and you love it. You want her to do it again. You honestly had not thought of that yourself, with her being so full of sun in your arms. You grin.

“Am I too cold for you? Come to think of it, you seem to got the habit of only playing down on the hemospectrum, huh, sugar.” You move your hands to her lower back, above her dress, and grasp one of the straps carefully with your teeth so as not to tear it. You slowly begin to drag it down over her shoulder.  
Another heavenly giggle. “My usual involvements do lend me to take the role of aristocracy.” A wicked tongue darted out, running pointedly along a bony segment of your earfin, joint to tip. “Won’t you show me the finer aspects of the cold, my highblood King?” 

The strap falls from your teeth when your jaw falls open, draping over her arm. Your bulge unsheathes immediately.  
Death by foxy jade-blood, Meenah will read at your corpse party. 

Your hands are trembling, frozen on her upper thighs. Excitement and lust are surely burning in your eyes when you look into hers and whisper, “Please, god please, spread your pretty little stems for me, baby doll.” Blood races through you and you feel dizzy with anticipation.  
She moves to bend her knees and straddle herself over your waist, and her body is light in your arms when you slide off the rock with her in your lap. You hit the sandy pebbles on your knees with her under you quite hard, but it’s a trivial pain. She’s already leaning back onto the shore with her hands lifting your shirt up and over your head, rolling the fluttering edges of your grub fins between her fingers.  
Her golden lip ring is warm between your lips when you meet her for a deep kiss. It may be slightly uncouth to roll your hips against hers as rough as you are, but with the way your tight jeans are rubbing on your bulge you can’t stop yourself. You break away from her for air and glide your fingers across the swirls of her ink, caressing her arms and chest. 

“Let me see how far they go?” It feels better to word it as a question. You can’t bring yourself to just undress her. Although you know you are second only to one and she belongs to you by blood right, you never truly cared much for the laws of the hemospectrum. Too much human influence, Meenah would often mock you.  
She feels like a gilded gift beneath you, a trophy, and you don’t deserve her. Her hands go to the second strap of her dress and she slides it over her perfect grey shoulder; you are riveted, the stark contrast of her luminous skin and the ebony designs compliment her perfectly. Her hands don’t stop. Thin fingers slide the fabric over the curve of her breasts, and you can’t control the soft chirp that escapes from the gills at your neck. It takes a few minutes, but you systematically trace your tongue along every curve of every exposed tattoo. Her sweet moans and increasingly uncontrolled sighs of pleasure spur you along in your journey, and the bumps scattered across her skin from your cold breath and tongue only serve to encourage you. Not being one with idle hands, you stop your hips while you taste her skin and slide her long dress up and over her hips. The back of her skirt remains strewn under her. The slits along her thighs are actually quite convenient, you manage to think when you slide your fingertips across her sand-free grubscars. 

A loosening of your jeans and clank of metal draw your attention from the swirls on her perfect chest to your groin. She quickly undoes your belt and her deft fingers have your button fly open before you register the action. You freeze, the magical dream becoming very real. She’s going to see your bulge in just one more layer of fabric and the threat of inadequacy rears up in you. This is dumb, you think, you know your bulge is more than adequate. It’s impressive even, no matter how much Mituna mocks you in his Turrette’s-like fits.  
Porrim senses your momentary anxiety, and softly rubs the front of your purple briefs. There isn’t much left to her imagination from the vehemence with which your bulge is lashing around in its cotton confines, trying to wrap around her fingers through the fabric.

“I do not believe there is anything for to be apprehensive about with regards to your anatomy, darling.” Her voice is slightly strained, and a little breathy. 

“Do you really want me, babe?” You slide a finger experimentally over the fold of her nook and groan with the slickness coating the digit in response. Again you stroke her, slightly deeper, and slide a second finger inside. She’s gasping now, so you gently pump your fingers within her a few times before you start to spread them. 

“I believe your answer is in your hands, sweet Cronus.” The scent of her arousal is intoxicating to you, it fills your nose and you see jade creep into your vision. Without thinking you bring your hand to your mouth and suck. You lick her material off your fingers slowly, savoring the flavor, savoring the hormones, loving the lust on her face while she watches you. She pushes your jeans down to your thighs. Her hand moves to slide under your briefs and your mind goes blank when she strokes the small fins at the base of your bulge. 

“How did you know about those, sugar? Have you been peeping on me in my hive all this time?” Your voice is shaky and uneven, but she doesn’t seem to think it reflects on your sexual prowess.  
The affection continues, and you roll your hips into her hand. “Judging from the unique placement of your other seadweller attributes, I assumed a high probability of fins in that location as well.” She murmurs low and soft and it’s the only sound you ever want to hear.

This is going to end too quickly for you, you can feel the rising twist of stimulation from the fins and her tugging your bulge across your briefs and it’s been too long for you to have any real tolerance built up. You reach down to grasp her wrist. Drawing it away from your groin, you bring it to your lips to kiss each fingertip. The swelling in your chest is too great for you to bear, and you need to be closer to her. You lean down on your elbows in the sand framing her face, breathing heavily, feeling the warm crush of her breasts beneath you. Teeth break delicate skin between her neck and shoulder before you can comprehend what you’re doing, and the strained gasp that greets the action makes you chirp again. It felt more like instinct than anything else; you wanted everyone to know you had claimed her, that this goddess of a troll was yours. Her blood tastes like a coveted delicacy on your lips.  
She arches into you, moaning your name. Dualscar, she’s thinking, now this might be where the fearsome ancestor comes from. 

Without warning you sink your razor teeth into her shoulder, not letting go but rather sucking and lapping at the blood as it flows from her before you release her, your mouth filled with the intoxicating warmth of her flesh. Porrim screams, loudly, and it’s almost enough to make you stop. With one hand you caress her neck, thumb grazing her fiery jugular before sliding under her back and drawing her close to you. Right as you retract your teeth from her shoulder her scream morphs into a long, low, trill. Something inside you snaps; you will make her do that again.

“Beg for me,” you growl against her neck, nipping at her ear and burying your face in her soft black locks. “Beg for me to take you, baby doll, beg for my bulge and beg me to pail you so hard you’ll never search for a matesprit again.” You can’t believe you just said that, but you don’t stop nipping at her neck and ear. Quickly, your hand moves to shove your briefs down to join your jeans. The sea air on your bulge makes you gasp, and it immediately thrashes forward to curl around Porrim’s tendrils tightly. The both of you groan simultaneously.

“Cronus...” she moans, tossing her head to the side to allow you better access to her skin. It’s not enough for you.

“Beg.” You demand in another low growl. Her nook is slick and hot against your bulge. You rub roughly at her grubscars beneath the dress bunched above her hips, and her lustful whimper makes you latch down hard on her collarbone. There it is again, that beautiful trill just for you, but she doesn’t speak.

“Beg for me, Porrim. Beg for me. Now!” Your shout is grating and forceful, and you follow the command with a series of unrelenting bites from her jaw down to the plush upper slope of her chest. A strategic roll of your hips causes your bulge to barely flick the opening of her nook and it takes everything you have to keep from entering her right then. The force with which you’re pressing onto her, holding her, is probably a little painful considering your highblood strength but the way she’s trying to thrust herself onto your bulge makes you think she doesn’t particularly mind.  
Blood drips from your mouth when your teeth break free, and the only thing that makes sense is to kiss her. She trills incessantly when you do, and when you break the kiss, the words that pour from her perfect mouth have you pushing yourself inside her before she finishes forming her sentences.

“Cronus, god please, Cronus, I want your bulge so badly…make me yours, every inch of me inside and out. Pail me until I only know the shape of you, until I only want you, till your bulge is the only thing I think about.”  
She’s gasping between her words when you thrust into her. You slide one arm under a shapely leg and hitch her knee up to your side to enter her more fully. The expanse of soft lower stomach exposed by her dress is interrupted only with the slight bump you make when you seat down to your finned hilt and rub your bulge inside her. 

“You’re just like your ancestor, Cronus…strong, commanding, powerful, I could never want for a better matesprit. You touch me as if my body is already yours, Cronus…I want to be yours. Please, please Cronus…fill me. Flushed is all I feel for you. Be my king.”  
Her bulge is snaking down your front, and slides what bit it can reach across your nook. A gasp escapes your panting lips and you slow your thrusts. You press into the arching troll beneath slowly, savoring the clench of her around your thick bulge, and her soft moans tell you she is doing the same. Her hands grasp your forearms tightly while she rocks against you and the soft jarring of her breasts in time with your thrusts is captivating. The pale grey of her skin turns almost silver with her mounting pleasure and mounting luminescence.

“Darling…” she whispers, “Cronus darling…don’t stop.” She glows slightly brighter beneath you, and you concentrate what willpower you have left on pressing into her in the perfect angle to stroke the small opening of her seedflap with the tip of your bulge. It works, and within a few minutes the only sound she makes is a combination of soft trills and your name over and over. She orgasms without warning and leaves you stunned. Her skin glows like moonlight under you, the outline of her tattoos almost ethereal against the light; material doesn’t gush unceremoniously from her, but leaks steadily from the spongy flesh along the underside of her bulge. Her lips are parted with your name across them. She arches in your arms, opening herself to you, accepting you entirely.

She is undeniably the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in all your sweeps. 

Suddenly you feel so ashamed for soiling this perfection with your presence, and you have to close your eyes because you can’t handle the weight of it. Tears prick your eyelids when you wrap your arms tight around her bare body and spill into her, your sounds less like chirps and more like broken prayers of her name. She grows slightly cooler under you from your material spreading within, but you aren’t ready to let go of her quite yet. You hold still for a few moments.

“Cronus.” She kisses your closed eyes and you force yourself to look at her. How could you ever hope to come across a matesprit so gorgeous and magical? She presses against you to roll the two of you onto your sides, and you slip out from her and back into your sheath. Suddenly you can smell the sea again and the urge to plunge in with her seizes you. Probably instinct, you tell yourself, but you ask anyway.

“Can you swim, Porrim?”

She props herself up on one elbow, and you reach over to fumble through her disheveled dress to slide her straps back onto her shoulders, which causes her to wince slightly, before returning your own clothes to their proper place. A twinge of guilt pangs through you.

“Not well,” she admits, “but Kankri has attempted to teach me under the pretense that it might be triggering to higher classes if I avoid the sea.” This answer makes you chuckle a bit.

“Triggering? Not for this cat, baby doll, but it does give me an excellent excuse to get you out of that sexy dress and into my arms.” She blushes heavily and you smile; it’s something she doesn’t do easily. Another deep kiss in each other’s arms, and you stand, helping her rise from the sand. “Let me take you back to your hive, help you get cleaned up.” You motion to the array of bites adorning her torso. 

“That sounds lovely.”


End file.
